The Leopard Boy
by crestfallen hostility
Summary: he said, "Ich liebe dich." Roxas beamed. in the secluded forests of Africa, a German imperialist and a group of half-bred Englishmen set out on a quest leading them down a more dangerous path than expected. akuroku . axel-centric
1. Axel

"Sir?"

The redhead turned around, his pith helmet falling over his eyes. _"Was is los?" _he asked. "What is it?" His subordinate smiled wearily, fearing the expedition leader's snappy attitude. Replying with a shrug, he turned away and continued through the dense forest of West Africa. In the Congo Basin anything could happen, and they all knew to stay on their toes.

Birds "ca-cawed" and a few of the members jumped as a snake slithered by. Curiously, the man with fire-like locks did not; he seemed used to it by now. Of course, the team explored the basin for years and few of them fell victim to death.

The threat of jaguars, however, still existed.

Would they meet one, the troop prepared itself with many artillery guns.

Axel, the fiery haired spark we discussed earlier, happened to be part of the Her Majesty's Imperial Empire's African Exploration Army. Big mouthful. In all irony this young man was not a Briton at all, but a German military officer. Queen Victoria hired him specifically, since Germany did own some piece of Africa.

And it so happened Germany claimed just the area she wanted to explore. Great Britain and Germany's steadfast alliance held through, their competition for power still consumed every good-natured piece. As with France, Spain and the rest of the gang.

Power and money. They made the world go 'round.

The English bird-brains Axel traveled with knew not a word of German, bugging him entirely out of his pants. His own English perfect, he expected nothing less than some German from their pompous, prosperous tongues. Apparently Englishman thought anyone who did not speak their language had no right to be human. What ignorant bastards.

And so Axel conversed rarely. Both out of retrospect for their culture and forethought of his own. Hell, these Persian cats didn't even know what a wiener schnitzel was. Or the Oktoberfest.

Talk about savage.

"_Gehen Sie weiter," _he grumbled, pushing a few explorers forward. "If we don't hurry up those cats will get us." Axel wanted out before dark lest those savage beasts come out. However, jaguars are very shy creatures, and would not have approached them on their own.

One explorer, Edward Bristow, tripped and hit his head on the rock. Blood spewed everywhere and it took an hour to get him cleaned up. Expectantly, Axel was furious.

"_Steh auf!" _He growled, pulling poor Bristow to his feet as crimson rolled down his face. "Get up you lazy swine. _Saukerl!_" Not even a drop of compassion for the man bleeding out of his skull.

The whole team, racked with fright, followed close behind. Bristow was left screaming for help, but it was too late. As they trudged into the milky sunset they hear no more of him.

Just another loss. Just another stupid Brit.

A pittance to pay.

That's what you get in the land of the savage.

The men stopped, trying to collect what happened only an hour ago. None of them looked at the German, and tension started to take hold. Sure, Axel learned his domination from the military schools in Germany, but please. These men treated him like some sort of…

Of jaguar.

So Axel struck up a conversation. "Why are you filthy lot mad at me? Men get lost in the jungle all the time." he pulled out a Lucky's cigarette from his pouch pocket and lit it, placing it in his mouth afterwards. A strange habit for an Englishman. Not so strange for one such as himself.

They didn't reply. Axel started to get frustrated. "Are you going to answer me? _Beantworten Sie mir_." Eye-contact lacked; they simply didn't want to associate.

Finally, a younger Brit piped up, looking down at his mud-covered shoes. "… You killed him." The youngster winces, and another comrade put an arm around his shivering shoulders.

Axel pursed his lips. "Oh, pish posh," mumbled. "The man was aging. He wouldn't have survived." This was true.

"B-But now those cats have go' 'im!" piped Young Brit. "We go' ta go back!" He stood up, trying to seem impressive in his small resistance. To Axel his accent sounded more Scottish, and he shot that idea down like a bombing plane.

"_Nien_. We can't loose more men. And there'll be nothing left of the old bag of bones, just… well… a bag of bones!" He laughed at his own joke. No one else joined him.

Stupid cats. Stupid England.

Grumbling, Axel pulled out the framework for their tents. This spot seemed the perfect place to set up camp, as it was not in the way of any wild animals. He made a trail, using old twine and rope. Now no one could get lost. Feeling proud, he attached the last of the poles together and called his comrades.

"_He_! Get over here. _Faule Leute_…" he muttered under his breath, running a bony hand through his mangled, spiky locks. Sometimes these men were so dense. Like a rock. Or a dog. If you told them not to pee on the carpet, they'd find another off-limits area. Germans certainly were smarter.

Like ordered, the Britons circle around him, faced still reflecting grief and misery. Axel, taken aback by the sullen mood, made the mistake of becoming angry. "_Oh, bitte._ This isn't the end of the world. One man. Just one man. None of us new him well. He was a _fremde_, a stranger. New to this company, too." His statement sounded logical, but time would tell. The faces once plastered in agony turned to rage.

One of the British men stood up, shaking with fury. He was brown-blonde, with a small gotee and bright fawn eyes. Axel estimated his age -- 22. Young for an explorer. "You _stupid_ Germans don't know _anything_ about friendship. Obviously. Because in our homeland you stick together, even if he was new. And being old is all the more reason to have protected him." Chocolate optics burned into Axel's green ones, and for a second he felt a shiver run down his spine. "How dare you think of him as… as _inferior_. You treated him like an animal, like a jaguar. Hell, you act as if we all are wild cats!"

Another, a larger man with straight-up black hair and similar optics to the last speaker, stood up and walked to his side. "I," he started, eyes downcast, "for one agree." Nothing more was said.

How dare they. Those little Englishman and their elegant, soft robes and those dainty silver spoons and the beauteous, cushy pillows with duck feathers that always made you sneeze. Their stupid, proper cups of tea and their oh-so polite "cheerio". It made him sick. Inside, Axel felt proud to be German.

"_Bockmist! _Bullshit to that." Axel came from a war-like family, and so naturally swear words came along with the package. "We are humans. Want me to spell it out? H-U-M-A-N-S. Memorize it." He put a finger to his temple, a most notable gesture when he was being sarcastic.

Having enough, the crew gave up on their leader and snuggled into sleeping bags, saying nothing after the header argument. Soon he could hear nothing but his own breathing. Wasn't this expedition about claiming territory. As the night progressed, he became more and more agitated over one small question.

Which side did this benefit?

Axel slept badly that night. He tossed and turned, moaning and groaning about nothing he could remember the next day. But in the current, he seemingly swam in his bed, as it has been proven through scientific knowledge that the average person walks four miles in their bed. This was not some sort of marathon, however. Axel ran for his life.

_On either side of him three hungry cats prowled, eyeing his body and licking their blood-stained jaws. With no modern aids to protect him, Axel became pinned to a tree, the fear of moving seemed unbearable. _

_Then, the cats attacked him. First they scratched his face, then they bit his leg. Axel howled in pain, thrashing and squirming until he finally woke up, drenched in sweat._

We've explained much about the conflicts between Germany and England, but there's one subject, my friends, that I've purposely let slip through the cracks. It seems I've forgotten how a certain young redhead came to be. Well, let's expand on that, shall we?

Now, you'd think that a great general like Axel came from a noble, wealthy part of Germany.

Unfortunately, you would be direly incorrect.

Growing up in Frankfurt made men out of little boys fast. Note, Berlin was not as bad back then. So many people crammed into such a small area had it's burdens, especially when your father was a watchmaker. No one cared about the time in Frankfurt, so rarely did he make money.

Watch making did not make you rich. Ever.

Often, Axel forced himself to eat from trashcans, bring some home to his family. Often money ran out, usually from his father's obsession with prostitutes. His mother wasn't much better, being a heavy drug addict and alcoholic.

So he lived on his own, and at the ripe age of sixteen joined the army. It became the only family he had.

As planned, Axel was promoted to colonel, then lieutenant. General came only a few years later, after fighting in many wards against Austria. No one asked about his heritage. No one cared. Exactly the way he wanted it.

Being more anti-social then the rest of the gang made Axel an outcast, especially among a country known for it's exuberant energy. His only social time with the crew happened to be disciplinary, barking orders or insulting them in German.

But Axel loved nature, and his fascination for the main animal in the Jungle of Africa was what really got him interested in this expedition. The leopard, most commonly confused with the jaguar, enticed Axel more than any amount of money. Now, I know that throughout the story we've been referring to leopards as jaguars, but Axel became quite annoyed with correcting everyone, and sought to ignore their great and stupid misjudgments.

Ax Axel watched falling stars glide over him, a rustle in the bushes awoke him from his reverie. He sat up, listening with keen hearing for the sound, and heard it yet again. _"Hallo?" _Called out the bewildered German, "_Ist da jemand? _Is anyone there?"

Yet nothing answered, so Axel decided to find one for himself. He stood, feeling his way towards the sound, which happened to be a grove of bushes. As he got closer, the ratting and snapping of twigs increased. Certainly something.

"Hello? _Hallo? Sprechen Sie Deutsch?_" Well, they probably did not speak German. Stupid question, Axel.

A form sped out of the bushes, turning heel away from him. Axel caught the shape that closely resembled a human. But a human in the forest? He was curious. "Wait a minute! _Gedulden Sie sich bitte einen Augenblick!_" But it was too late.

Standing there, pajama's just barely slipping off, Axel stared ahead with mesmerized eyes. Little did he know they would meet again.

Soon.

A/N: what do you think? This'll be a short little story, basically a cross between Pocahontas and Tarzan, with the lovely characters you cherish and remember from, you guessed it, KINGDOM HEARTS!

So without further ado, an update has already been written and will be posted soon. AND german is NOT my first language. Most of these translations came from dictionaries so don't mention any errors in grammar.


	2. Roxas

"Mayday! Mayday!"

Flames licking their feet, a crowd of young British girls scampered down the hall, skirts held high in an attempt to wade through the rising waters. Men grabbed their arms, pushing and pulling them safely into tiny, unsteady lifeboats barely big enough for five people, so imagine trying to stuff twenty passengers. Their shrill screams barely heard among the low and high voices of crew members, panicked and stressed, attempting to call directions and instructions.

A young couple found themselves separated when the captain ordered one of them take to the boat. She refused, pleading for her husband, explaining the situation at hand. "My son! My son is in our cabin!" Though the captain felt sorry, nothing could be done. Severely, he pushed her into a lifeboat as the woman called bloody murder for her husband.

He, a man of about twenty one with scruffy whiskers and dark brown hair, dashed away, following the trail of floating plates and clothing. Any second it might sink, and though aware of the fact, it didn't exactly register in the "safety" part of his brain.

Saving his child, however, did.

Coughing, he found it harder and harder to walk, water now up to his thighs. But a quiet, fearful sob relieved him of all doubt. "Percival?" he whispered, voice hoarse and hopeful. "Percival?" As he pushed his way further, he found the basket. Young Percival lay inside, sobs barely loud enough to wake a mouse. The child was scared as well. It was as if he understood the event about to occur.

He scooped up the bundle of urine-soaked blanket, pressing the baby firm against his chest. Oh god. For a moment dread filled him, but the beautiful blue gaze from his son prevented further terrors. Once again, they were family.

Just then, a horrible shake made the young man find himself underwater, the boy out of his hands. Panicked, he clung to the wall, desperately searching for the blue blanket with bright, blond hair sticking out. Swimming was a must now, for the level was almost high enough to reach the ceiling.

The baby lay face down, floating away from him. "No!" He dived, grabbing the blanket before what inside met its death, and swam for the exit. Luckily, the brunette found his wife before the boat split in half, slowly submerging into the icy, icy waters.

Mother, father and son all held each other close, viewing in horror as their once happy vacation left them stranded and homeless. As they watched the _Preverbal _dip its huge hull into frigid African waters, all three felt grateful to each other, each doing something special to save their lives.

As their boat washed up along the coasts of the Democratic Republic of Congo, the father scoped out their surroundings, trying to figure out the best move of action for him and his son. Scratching the back of his head, he turned to his wife, a slight frown etched in his sea-scarred face. "Not a blessed soul around, Namine." His concern pushed through his voice, and the delicate blonde standing at his side nodded.

"I'm sorry, Sora," she whispered, nuzzling his chest with her head of sunshine yellow. He put an arm around her, as if comforting a young lost puppy. Their worst nightmares realized, Sora knew each of them needed the strength to survive on this island. It was eat or be eaten.

And it wasn't even an island. In fact, Africa stretched almost as wide as Eurasia itself. A continent, by George. Steadily, he helped Namine up, Percival clawing at his mother's chest and begging for milk. It made her giggle slightly, and she patted his head for comfort. Then they made their daring trek through the jungles, lacking wariness of any kind.

They would certainly need it.

For the next six months, Sora and Namine constructed their house out of flotsam wood and extra items they had brought with them. Both of them agreed on a tree, a huge kapok tree stretching over a mile wide and covering more than they eye could see. As they set to work, their house became more and more detailed, until finally it was finished.

As they sun slowly set, Namine tucked her young Percival into bed, kissed her husband goodnight, and drifted off to sleep with the sounds of frogs and running water filling her dainty ears.

At about the same time, a different story unfolded far beyond the human's blissful paradise. Deep within the jungles of the Congo, a small leopard prowl sank in deep among the ever plentiful bamboo trees and large canopy umbrellas. Now, it's very uncommon, maybe even impossible for a group of leopards to group up like this. Even so, these leopard were part of a very rigid hierarchy, the only group in the jungle. All shared the same blood, and none of them thought of leaving. Even more unusual, this clan didn't accept any outsiders. None at all.

Close by under a huge tree with many thick branches rested the queen of the prowl, Xira. It is tradition that all leopards names have 'X's in them, because it is part of their language. wanted to be her mate, but her love belonged solely to the prowl leader, Zexion. In Leoporian, Xira mean Giver of Life, the same name as the goddess who the Leopards believed created the world. The name is pronounced "Zira", and she was fortunate enough to have it. Being the most beautiful leopardess in the colony meant a lot of other handsome young cats

Zexion didn't look like the other leopards. His coat, from age and the environment, was a silver gray, and long slate bangs shielded his right eye, which bore a hideous scar. Thin like a twig, Zexion wasn't as fast or as skilled, and it added only to his blindness, the color of his eyes a deep crystal blue, an unnatural color for any wild cat.

Xira, on the other hand, was young and small, smaller than the males but larger than many of the females. Small, black spots dotted her goldenrod pelt, fur as soft as the clouds in the sky. The colony believes she cleaned it every day to keep its glossy shine. The most unusual aspect, however, were her eyes. They weren't golden, as you'd expect many cats eyes to be, but a light, honey-like green, with flecks of blue hidden beneath their warm and friendly glance.

Now, her swollen stomach was all that could be seen of poor Xira. She groaned, screwing her eyes tightly shut, tongue dangling out as if slurping up an invisible lake. Xira gave a loud shriek as the pain traveled to her chest, ivory teeth glistening harshly in the hot African sun. Paws kneading, the leopardess grunted pushing and panting all at the same time. The colony gathered around, excited to meet the new heir Xira bore for them.

"Will it be a boy or a girl?" One asked, a thinner leopardess with a scruffy coat that looked unwashed. A taller male shook his head.

"If she doesn't give a male heir," he said, staring straight at her stomach, "Zexion won't have anyone to give the power to."

A younger cup crawled under the thin lioness, trying to give input. "But, Luxor can always take over, right?" Luxor was Zexion's son, and the second in line. If the queen didn't give a male child, power over the whole colony would be given to him, as well as his mate becoming Xira. Luxor was a mean leopard, selfish and ignorant. He despised Zexion and had a lighter hatred for Xira. He treated females more like prostitutes than actual beings.

Another painful scream. Xira was thrashing now, growing and hissing, clawing at the leafy ground, begging Zexion for help. The old king could give no aid; this was a female's job. And so she'd go alone. With one last howl of agony the young cub popped out, covered in mucus and blood. The she-cats quickly came to her aid, licking the excess body fluids off the poor baby and checking the gender.

"It's a boy!"

Piercing yowls of joy filled the forest, Leopards hugged and kicked each other, smiled and laughed. The dynasty could continue, and old grouch Luxor would never feel power between his paws.

Filled with gratitude, the young queen beckoned for her baby, giving him a few quick licks before he latched his tiny, yet sharp, teeth on her swollen nipples, kneading the milk out of her. She smiled from ear to ear, nuzzling her mate with full on affection.

"I'll call him… Demyx." The name Demyx meant water in their language, and it suited him, for he carried the same blue flecked gene his mother bore. Everything was right with the world.

For now.

Six months passed and Demyx grew into a handsome young cub, always bothering his mother and father, hunting with friends and teasing the hippos down at the watering hole. He loved swimming and constantly nagged for lessons. Cats hated water, but Demyx was a natural and showed no fear of its aquatic depths.

But them, a most unfortunate thing happened. On a beautiful day when the birds chirped merrily and fish swam plentifully in the rivers the colony heard the warning call, a call feared by many but heard rarely. Yannex, a young male of only a year, came crashing through the bushes panting, his eyes wide and paws moving as fast as they could.

"Torak! Run!" It was all that needed to be said.

Within five seconds the prowl was on the move, stampeding through the young plants, ransacking trees on their frightful way. Xira did not run, however. Her young son, Demyx, was no where to be seen.

Now, Torak was an ape, but not just any ape. A gigantic silverback mountain gorilla, weighing over two hundred pounds and stood at least six feet tall. That was when he wasn't on his back legs. Those added another three feet. Compare that to a two foot tall leopard. For some reason Torak traveled alone, and ate nothing but wild cats and other small animals. Now, most gorillas only eat plant vegetation, but not Torak. He was a killer by nature. And it seemed he always hunted Xira's small prowl.

Xira called over and over again, the threat of being squashed by Torak only a small sliver in her mind. Just then, a small shrill cry came from underneath a pile of rocks. "Demyx?" Xira cried, running over to her lost cub. Finally he'd be safe.

Torak didn't see it that way. He screamed, launching himself at Xira and managed to throw her a good ten feet away. She stumbled, hitting the back of her head on a tree and fell with grace back onto the foliage. Too weak to fight him, the pitiful screams of pain and agony surrounded her as her little Demyx was torn completely in half by Torak's brutal hands.

Then it was over. The gorilla gathered what was left of her son in his hairy palms and ran, leaving a blood trail as thick as the Congo river behind him.

It was a loss unspoken of. For the next week the group traveled, none looking Xira in the eye. She tagged behind them, head hung low in submission, a few tears leaking from her once stunning eyes. Zexion, sensing her grief, traveled back to her and did his best to comfort her. "There wasn't anything we could do."

Xira shoved him. "I could have been a better mother! Oh, why did I leave him alone?" She stumbled, haunches falling over her delicate paws. Reluctantly, finding her balance once more, she stood and followed the prowl.

But something was different. In the darkness of the night, something screamed for her, cried for her, wailed for her. Not Demyx, something… else. And then all of a sudden it wasn't a trick of the wind; Xira heard cries of fear and loneliness. Cries a cub makes during thunderstorms.

Something was calling her.

In a flash she darted past the prowl into the moonlit pasture, past the river that never stopped flowing, over the fallen log connecting the two parts of a fissure, through the bamboo forest until she reached a most startling sight.

A… tree house.

It was like nothing she'd seen before. In a huge, tree sat a small shack, elaborate for such a building. Bamboo stilts held it together, a thatched roof sat atop of its wood walls, the mast of a ship jutting out from the front. In the breeze waved a strange piece of cloth, with white, red, and blue stripes crisscrossing in the shape of an 'X'. In between her and the house hung a bridge, one that obviously hadn't been used, for ivy and vines curled themselves around it's wooden pieces and mold had started to form along the rope.

The cry. It came from inside. She needed to get to it.

Slowly, she crossed the wild, creaky bridge, carefully avoiding the cracks and holes diminishing the fine wood. She was careful not to damage anything; this might be her only way back to the prowl.

As she approached the bamboo door, nudging it with her nose, all she smelled was blood. Blood on the ceiling, blood on the ground, blood everywhere. And just about three feet in front of her lay two very still creatures, creatures she'd only heard about.

Man.

Obviously, they were dead, but it still scared Xira badly. She screamed, daring to the other end of the room and curled under a rocking chair, shivering with fright. And that's when she noticed it. The foot prints. Blood red footprints tossed all over the floor, smears of red disconnecting from the toe-shapes.

She knew who those belonged to.

Torak.

Slowly, she backed up, the scent still lingering freshly. Where was he? She glanced at the rafters, behind her, to either side, but no sight of a gigantic gorilla. Somehow, however, her feeling of assurance drained like a leaky faucet, just a few drops at a time.

And in the midst of her anxiety a small shrill cry broke her reverie. It came from a cradle-like structure just behind her, a bit of a distance beyond the dead Man creatures. She moved closer, ears flattened and claws out, just in case. The cries seemed to diminish, and the cradle rocked back and forth, probably from the wind.

Or something else?

She hovered over the top, nose just poking out from behind the tall walls. What she saw dazzled her in every way possible. A small, furless creature lay in the cradle, wrapped in a light beige blanket, squirming as if it were drowning in the soft fabric. Atop its head sat a small bundle of spiky blonde locks, nothing like any animal's fur, she calculated. It was naked, with no clothing on at all, its chubby legs covering the only organ that represented his gender. Male.

Her smile softened. Nothing in the whole wide world could be cuter than this beat, this baby. Leaning down, she nuzzled the small animal with her nose, slightly startled when its fingers grabbed at the fur around her mouth. It squealed in delight. Some sort of motherly instinct came over her that day, and she grabbed the youngster gently by the back of its neck with her teeth.

She became frightened when it started to cry, and hastily dropped it gently back onto the wooden floor. Its name seemed slathered in red, Xira soon came to terms that the baby was in pain. She'd accidentally bitten too hard. This wasn't like any leopard child; the small thing didn't have a scruff.

Grabbing him again, gently this time, she managed to take the baby's neck in her jaws without crushing him. Immediately he fell asleep, and Xira turned back towards the door. But something growled from above her, something sinister and not Leoporian. Slowly, her eyes traveled up, furl stending on end as if she had been electrified.

Torak sat in the rafters, huge yellow teeth bared, black eyes staring right at her and the baby. He roared, pounding the wooden pile in anger and defiance. Xira quietly backed up, and them sprinted out the door.

The giant ape ran after her, yowling and screaming. He wanted blood: leopard blood. And the blood of the queen would buy for a hefty price. Xira skidded to a half right before they both tumbled over the edge. Rocks shaped like spears jutted out from the soggy ground, strange objects caught between their spiky grip.

She then made her way across the bridge, but Torak was having none of that. He pulled at the ropes, smashing a few pieces of wood at the same time. The bridge became unstable, and Xira felt herself losing her balance. Quickening her pace, the leopardess managed to claw her way to safety just as the bridge snapped in half, leaving a very angry Torak marooned. His angry cries were the only things she heard as she jogged back to the prowl.

It took all night, but Xira managed to reunite with Zexion and Luxor. Every single family member came up to her, giving their congradulations. None of them noticed the small infant hanging from her mouth. Finally, Zexion said something.

"Xira, what is that thing?" He gestured to the naked creature. She simply smiled, laying it down beneath her stomach, bathing it with her warm, pink tongue.

A small cup came up to her, startled. Turning up his nose, he cried, "it's the grossest thing I've ever seen!" Xira didn't take this comment lightly, shielding the baby with a paw.

"Why, he's just an infant," cooed the leopardess, nuzzling the boy. Slowly, it latched onto her stomach, nestling its blonde head into her patched fur. Zexion was the first to protest.

"It can't stay here. It's dangerous!" With distain, he growled harshly at the creature. "What if it learns to kill using those… those thunder-sticks Man use? You have to take it back."

Xira hissed at him, barely missing his face with a spiked paw. "Does it look dangerous to you!" She pushed the baby out in front of her, glaring with hate at her mate.

Zexion scoffed. "What about it's family?" At that, Xira become quiet.

"Torak killed it's parents…"

"Any others?"

Xira shook her head. "There are no _others_." Zexion waited a few minutes, and finally bowed his head.

"Fine," he grumbled, turning away from the group. "It can stay." Xira, relieved, tried to further induce the situation.

"Oh, thank you Zexion. I know he'll be a good son --" But Zexion cut her off.

"I said he could stay." His hateful eyes filled with rage felt like fire on Xira's pelt. "That does not make him my son."

As Zexion traveled behind Luxor, the other prowl members gathered around, commenting and asking questions.

Finally, one of relevance came up. "What are you going to name it?" Xira smiled, shaking her head at the thin leopard the question belonged to.

"_Him_, dear. And I think I'll name him… Roxas."

Beneath her warm belly Roxas slept, his breathing in sync with the female leopardess. He yawned and rolled over, unaware of the adventures soon awaiting him.

And a certain group of creatures soon to enter his life forever.

* * *

A/N: Lololol! Added some tarzan quotes there! This is gonna turn into a cross between kingdom hearts, tarzan, and princess monoke, so be aware of these plot elements.


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